


lilacs in winter- waiting their turn

by impressionists



Category: Fake News RPF, Last Week Tonight With John Oliver (TV)
Genre: John Oliver - Freeform, Self-Insert, it's like a frankenstein mashup of any early 2000s romcom and a bbc science documentary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-05 23:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11588283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impressionists/pseuds/impressionists
Summary: New York City is known for being the city where anything can happen- which apparently extends to falling in love and dating the man who you've watched passionately talk about politics through a computer screen for years. One chemistry pHD, one postdoc, and one injured John Oliver who comes stumbling into the grocery store you help out at later, you're left thinking that maybe, just maybe, this was what you were looking for all along.





	lilacs in winter- waiting their turn

"The rules of precipitation are very simple- if either of the reactants are soluble, then it can't be a precipitate! Can anyone tell me why?" You intoned the last part of the statement with a sharp tap of the pointer against the blackboard, which does seen to jolt one student from the slumber that he'd fallen into.

A turn of your head revealed that it was 9:24 PM, which only caused you to sigh as you flipped through the rest of the textbook pages that you still needed to teach the late night class before 9:45. Solubility, phosphates, nitrates...Teaching a group of disaffected students every Thursday night for three hours wasn't exactly your dream when you moved to New York City, but apartment rents didn't pay themselves, and your postdoc alone certainly didn't pay enough to save you from a fate of homelessness and general starvation.

You sighed again as none of the students raised their hands. "The definition of precipitates are insoluble solids formed during chemical reactions- a soluble reactant can't exactly become insoluble, can they? If they did, I would've died ages ago from lab experiments gone wrong."

That last comment at least garnered a few chuckles, and so the cycle continued -teach, ask a question to the class, try to catch their attention- until the clock struck 10, and everyone burst out of the classroom in a whirlwind of backpacks and coats, right into the December night. As the last students waved their goodbyes, you took a moment to walk over to the one window of the classroom, and take a good, long look at the chilly street below, before thunking your head against the glass. Little white flakes drifted down from the grey-purple night sky as you gathered your papers and locked the door before heading out into the streets.

10:17 PM left only a few small shops and restaurants open (and for every affordable little café, there were two expensive restaurants and three dive bars were testaments to the worst of the worst when it came to filth and squalor), but four months of tutoring in this area had left you with an intimate knowledge of the best places where you could stretch out $8 into an actual meal. Well, actually, there was only one place, but you were good friends with the owners of the little Chinese grocery tucked away, two blocks away from the high school where you tutored, and they took enough pity on you to give you discounts on everything.

“晚上好, 叔叔! 你好阿姨！哎呀，好久不见了-这几个星期太忙了" you gushed, flashing the first grin of the entire night as your psuedo-grandmother greeted you with a hug and a baggie of peeled lychees.

”哇塞，终于我和我的小学者见面了！还在教哪个化学课吗？" the elderly grandfather of the little shop shouted, as he padded over from the back of the store. The three of you sat down at a little plastic table on the curb outside the store, right next to the fruit stands overflowing with bananas and watermelons and apples. While they relaxed for a bit, you went into the backroom to brew another pot of jasmine tea, before gently carrying it outside and setting it on the table. All three of you chatted about your day for a few minutes, as 阿姨 handed you a small Tupperware container holding some leftover rice and steamed beef ribs, which you gratefully shoved into your bag as you handed her $5 as a thank you- a small argument ensued as she tried not to take the cash, before you forced her to do so. A quick check of your phone showed that the time was 10:28, so you still had twenty or so minutes to chat with the two as you took over the register and directed customers to the right places, while 叔叔 and 阿姨 took a small break.

To be quite honest, you would have preferred working in their store as a full time employee, but they had already refused, on the basis that they wanted you to do more intellectual work that matched up with your level of education. Nonetheless, the couple were well into their 70s already, and you tried to do what you could to help take some of the stress out by doing some of the workload. At 10:51, you were preparing to pack up your bags again and leave, when the bell rang, signalling another customer.

"I'll be right with you!" you shouted as you hurried back to the counter, where you could see the silhouette of a man, dressed in what appeared to be a suit and holding a bag of something.

“Hi, how are you?” you asked,  as you checked your phone again quickly, before turning with a smile to face  _oh my god what the hell is happening._

John Oliver was standing in front of you, holding a plastic baggie full of peanuts, sporting a nasty looking cut on his cheek and a bashful grin. When you had the time, you watched the main segments of his show on YouTube (politics was one of your great passions in life-if you hadn't gotten a pHD in Chemistry, you would have gone down the road of PoliSci or a JD), and you had to admit that you had a bit of a small crush on him. Even without that, it would have been rather hard to not recognize the someone whose face wasn't plastered over billboard and bus advertisements. 

 "I would say good, but it's been quite a tumultuous night, as you can see," he grinned, pointing at the cut on his face. While you were having a mini breakdown, he was functioning like a normal human being, and  _Christ you really need to pull yourself together! How do normal people talk again?_ You settled for a small chuckle and a grin on your face.

"Oh, no, I can definitely see that!". A few droplets of blood slowly trickled down his face as you ran the bag of peanuts under the barcode scanner and rang him up. "Ooh, that doesn't look so good- I can patch that up for you, if you want?"  _That wasn't so bad, right?_

"If it's not a bother to you, that would be great," John said. "Sorry- my workplace's first aid kits were empty and I went out in search of a Duane Reade, or something along the lines of that." You winced sympathetically, as you gently grabbed his arm and led him to the backroom of the grocery store, where you pulled out a chair for him to rest on- he smiled at you appreciatively, and you flushed red. Apparently, this was your life now- fixing up cute celebrities and squealing internally. 

"I'm John, by the way," he said, offering his hand to you. "Pleasure to meet you- although maybe not under the best circumstances." God, his voice sounded really nice, both onscreen and in real life, and he was smiling at you kindly.

You took his hand and shook it- and he had soft hands and a firm grip and alright, you were quickly going into a downward spiral. "Y/N, nice to meet you as well." 

"You don't mind if I ask how you got that cut, do you?" you asked, as you grabbed the first aid pack and turned back to him. He laughed as he went into a story detailing how he had tripped over a a desk and hit his head, and you giggled as well- your own clumsiness had built you quite the reputation back in undergrad as the girl who managed to walk into the glass door of the lab at least three times a week.

"Oh, that reminds me of something similar I did in graduate school! I was working on my thesis one day,and I was walking into the lab when I tripped over a puddle of something and I crashed into a table with some empty beakers on it- well, I survived, but I can't quite say the same for the beakers," you said, as you pulled out the hydrogen peroxide, disinfectant salve, and bandages. 

"That does sound mildly terrifying," John laughed. "What did you major in? My degree was in English, so any injuries I sustained during university was definitely more my fault then what I was studying."

"I've always loved literature! Your college time must have been very interesting," you replied. "I took the other route in college, actually. I got my pHD in Chemistry, and I'm working on my postdoc at Columbia currently."

"Oh! Well, congratulations!" John said. "What are you researching right now?"

"Correlation between polyprotic hydroxides and degenerative nerve tissue concentrations," you murmured, with the monotonous voice of someone who was used to reciting this phrase over and over again to everyone from family friends to job interviewers to apparently, John Oliver. Your face flushed just a bit as you watched his face light up in surprise. 

"Well, I'm rather out of my depth when I tell you this, but I do think that that is extremely impressive!" John said with a laugh- you noticed, out of the corner of your eye, that he was eyeing the notebooks spilling out of your bag (carelessly flung onto the table next to him), on which there were little sketches and caricatures side by side with scrawled equations and Lewis structures. 

 _Oh, dear._ There was no way he was actually taking you seriously if he had just witnessed three pages of calculations with little cartoon pigeons scattered around, and you could have sworn that you heard a suppressed chuckle. Using 叔叔 as an excuse to end the conversation was socially acceptable under the circumstances that you'd probably never see John Oliver ever again, right?

"Eh, not quite..I guess that I'm just a little lost right now- but you get it, right? Fish out of water, in a new place with a new job? I moved to New York back in September, and I still don't quite know what the future has in mind, half a year later." Well, it seems like your tendency to overshare and ramble when you got nervous was finally starting to show around the corner. Maybe you could by a Tsingtao beer from 叔叔 when he left, so you could remember your first -and last- conversation with John Oliver.

He looked away with a contemplative sigh - _your talent to make everyone in the room feel awkward was really something else_ \- for a long enough time that you started to consider calling over 叔叔 or 阿姨, so you could escape the conversation. In the end, he turned back with a rather bitter smile and a longing look in his eye. "I suppose that I'm still in search of an end to that feeling myself. It never quite seems to leave, so I've made my peace."

The small frown and contemplative, silent nod that you gave must have alarmed him, because he was quick to reassure you that it got easier over time (a self deprecating laugh accompanied his comments, and it sounded just the same as when he was hurling out facts about the FCC or drug incarceration statistics, and you melted just a bit).

"I suppose that I'm just a little disappointed in my experience so far- I've been here for months, but postdoc takes up so much of my time that I haven't had any time to actually explore the city! I got lost last week when I tried to walk to a Starbucks, and I ended up in the middle of Battery Park because I read a map wrong." He laughed softly (oh, his dimples were adorable) at your little anecdote, but you were just glad that the conversation was directed somewhere where you were less likely to continue spilling how pathetic your life was.

"Columbia's rather far from Hell's Kitchen, isn't it? Is there anything that brings you around this area besides working here?" he continued on, as you placed the bandage over his disinfected wound, biting your lip in concentration as you absentmindedly brushed your fingers over his face for a second- and did his breath hitch, or was that just you? 

"Oh! I don't actually work here, as a matter of fact." He raised his eyebrow slightly with a curious smile, and you rushed to continue on. "I'm friends with the owners of the store, so I try to take over some shifts when I'm in the area, so that they can relax and unwind for a bit. My apartment is in the historic drug bust district, and I'm pretty sure one of my neighbors was stabbed outside of my door the other day- any time away from there's fine in my books. "

"You live in East Harlem, don't you," he inferred- an inference that was indeed, correct. The surprise must of shown readily enough on your face. "I lived there for about seven years or so, but I live in this area now, because it's closer to my workplace. I can definitely remember the police sirens and car horns- sometimes I still hear them ringing in my head."

"Well, I suppose that it does grow on you over time," you chuckled. "My real estate agent told me that it's the ambient noise of the big city, but I think that she was lying out of her teeth so that she could ensnare some unsuspecting soul. I make the most of my time when I'm in this area, because the worse things that happen here are carjackings and pedestrians shoving me." 

"And, uh, when are you in the area?" Was it just you, or did his voice seem lower than before? "I'd love to show you around New York properly, especially around Christmas time...if..that would be okay with you?" No, it definitely wasn't just you- his voice was definitely lower and quieter, and he had a slight blush on his face that matched with the shy, questioning tone of his voice and  _oh dear lord, you were going to have to wake up from this dream at one point or another, right? John Oliver just asked you out, so you can start pinching yourself awake._  

 "Oh, I would love to, if it's not a bother!" you gushed instead, and watching the way that his face lit up (whether from relief or something else, you couldn't tell), and the two of you shared grins at each other and oh, the computer screen you usually watched him on did not do justice to his attractiveness and his smiles and how nice and genuine he was. The cut on his face had long since been patched up, and you and John had been sitting across the table from each other for a while now- and oh, hell- a quick check of your phone as you reached to give him your phone number showed that it was 11:21PM, which meant that you would have to either walk or bike back to your apartment now, because the subway had been closing at nighttime for renovations recently.

You reached for your notebook with the chemical equations and pigeon doodles, ripping out a sheet of paper and scribbling your number on it, before handing it to John. "I teach a class in this area every Thursday night, and my work schedule is all over the place right now, but I would love to go with you some time." Dammit, you would have to find a nice outfit to wear to the  _not-a-date-unless-he-explicitly-says-so_  , because you were wearing your stained lab coat and a old pair of leggings right now.

"We'll find a way to make this work," John said. "Maybe one of these weekends would be the best, but I'd like to take you around and see the best spots, and...maybe I can buy a drink for you afterwards, if you'd like?" People only bought others drinks if they were...interested in them, right? He shifted from one foot to another, and the hesitant tone of his question confirmed what you thought. Your face was starting to resemble the color of a ripe tomato, and you simply nodded enthusiastically, because you were afraid that you would start squealing loudly if you opened your mouth.

"You really don't have to!" you said quietly. "This wasn't a trouble at all, and I quite liked talking with you."

"..Well, that's good to hear," he smiled, as the two of you began to gather your things from the table, in preparation to leave. He checked the clock hanging over the rack of chips, and appeared to do a double take- not that you could really blame him. The two of you had been in the backroom for over half an hour now. "How are you planning to get back to your apartment?"

You decided to answer truthfully. "I was planning on walking home, because the subways are pretty sketchy at night and I can't really afford to take an Uber back."

"You're going to _walk_  across Manhattan? In the middle of the night?" John asked incredulously. "That won't do at all! I kept you here for so long, so it's only fair that I make sure you get back safely. I can ride the subway with you, if you'd like."

"I really don't want to be a bother! It's a long way from Hell's Kitchen to Harlem- that's 45 minutes of your life that you're never getting back," you warned. Secretly, you wanted his company on the way back home, but you knew that it was selfish.

"Then I suppose that that's 45 minutes well spent," he said in a low, smooth voice, as he grabbed your bag for you and hoisted it over his shoulder- what do you know, he was handsome and funny and a gentleman, to top it all off. You thanked him profusely, and as the two of you headed out of the grocery store, you quickly stopped to say your goodbyes to 叔叔 and 阿姨 (the latter of which shot you a meaningful look as she promised that an interrogation about John was to come), while John looked on curiously. The little ring of the door signaled the exit, and as you and John turned around the corner and headed down the chilly block, a conversation began upon the research you did in your postdoc, with John grinning as you made wild hand gestures, passionately talking about the project, and you smiled softly to yourself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your fave is problematic- writes fanfiction about John Oliver when she has two tests tomorrow and uses this as an elaborate form of procrastination. i'll try my best to update once a week, and i would really appreciate it if you left kudos and/or comments if you enjoyed the story!


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